Chapter Text
Candlelight and vintage wine
make me wish that you were mine.
Toasting to shades of grey,
pray to someone for you to stay.
I’m not one for worship anymore,
but you’ll be my religion
for ever more.
A poem I wrote for our favorite idiots.
I mean; this season was murder, but it's done wonders for my creative endeavours.
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Candlelight and vintage wine
make me wish that you were mine.
Toasting to shades of grey,
pray to someone for you to stay.
I’m not one for worship anymore,
but you’ll be my religion
for ever more.
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